


Please Don't Find Me

by Miss_Kani



Category: South Park
Genre: Alcohol, Character Death, Drug Use, M/M, Mental Instability, Mentions of Violence, Ruby has mental issues, Stereotypical Support Group, Strong Language, Unsupportive father
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 06:06:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7965466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Kani/pseuds/Miss_Kani
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Freshman Year Craig asked a question that lead everyone to think he was gay. Two years later, Kenny helps make the rumour into reality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Operation Deny Everything - Freshman Year

**Craig's POV**

All I did was ask a stupid question.

Two weeks ago I was assigned an essay in health class about how important it was to practice safe sex. To me it was an easy A. All I had to do was ask and answer a question in the essay relating to the topic.

The question was:  _Why not do anal instead?_

This was a common conversation topic between my friends and I that always came up at random times. We'd been joking about it for months during fourth-period study hall while Wendy Testaburger glared us down for being so loud. I never saw anything bad about the topic. I mean, I was strictly against homophobia after what happened to me and Tweek.

When I told the principal it was a joke between my friends and me, he rolled his eyes. And because he was another one of those goddamn PC people be bursted out in a rant about how that was homophobic against gay people.

Apparently, Heidi Turner went babbling to the guidance counselor about my questionnaire. She said it was "homophobic" and "disgusting." (Heidi Turner has a button on her lanyard say _God Нateѕ Gayѕ_. Oh, the irony.) I really don't think it's that homophobic of a thing to ask. I'm pretty sure everyone has thought about it at one time or another. And besides, straight people do it sometimes too.

Three hours after my meeting with the principal, I was sitting in the guidance office. Six days later, I was in the conference room with my parents, surrounded by the school district's "experts" who blocked the door which had the only window. The only way I could see out of this damned room. The school's counselor sat across from me, watching me intently behind dusty spectacles. Her wrinkled mouth was pulled into a thin line as she slowly tapped her pen against her open (and blank) notepad. My parents were worse. My dad was giving me the stink eye as his hands absentmindly messed with his watch. My mom was braiding her hair into a side braid before letting it twirl its way free. And then she'd start to braid it all over again.

"Craig," the counselor began slowly, finally setting down her pen. "I know this is an odd question and may make you uncomfortable, but are you gay?" She asked in a sickly sweet tone. It was her natural instinct to try and make things seem easier but she just ended up sounding creepy.

At the question I could feel my eyes roll in my head. I thought I made it clear I wasn't when I broke off that "relationship" Tweek and I had in seventh grade. But then again, this lady didn't  _actually_ give a shit about the students here. I could feel the heat of my dad's glare on my cheek, my lips drawing into an even deeper scowl. I stopped giving a shit about what my dad thought a long time ago.

"No," I drawl out in a half-assed response. "I like girls." Which wasn't a complete lie. There were some girls who I thought were pretty. Like Bebe, except everyone thought that. Annie and Red weren't so bad either. The only problem was I only thought about that when someone else brought it up. These thoughts didn't just pop into my head as they would to any other teenage boy.

So, no I wasn't gay. But I wasn't exactly straight either. Bisexuality was always an option but it just didn't have my name written all over it. 

"Don't lie, Craig." I snapped out of my thoughts at the tired voice of my mother. My mom was one of the only people in the world that could make me break. She always had  _my_ best interest in mind unlike my father who always thought of himself. "My opinion won't change of you," she continued, laying a thin hand on my knee.

"I like girls," I repeat as some sort of convincing tactic. It didn't sound like I was convincing them more than I was convincing myself.

I was told to wait in the lobby while the counselor talked something over with my parents. When they came out they both looked morbid and I didn't ask any questions. The whole car ride home was filled with suffocating silence. My mom kept shooting me looks with a timid smile on her aging features. Eventually I plopped my head against the window and closed my eyes. It was obvious the more I tried to give a shit about the situation the worse it became.

And so I initiated Operation Don't Give A Shit. It's been a very successful operation. We have perplexed many an enemy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading the first chapter! This took me awhile to put together and it's only the first chapter. It would be much appreciated if you'd leave a comment to motivate me!


	2. The First Thing You Need To Know - The Hat

**Craig's POV**

I've been wearing the same hat since I was in third grade. My mom even had it adjusted to fit my head better as I grew up, but I never got it replaced. I have some weird connection with the stupid thing. It's the only thing that I can really call  _mine_.

And since I haven't been able to give up the stupid hat and have gone through all this trouble to keep it in good shape I absolutely  _hate_ it when people take it. Usually the thief gets a finger to the face with a nice little threat to go along, but if their last name happens to be McCormick they get a nice punch to the face. The only time I didn't abuse him was when he already had bruises all over his face. Which seemed to be happening a lot lately.

I once asked why he always looked like someone's personal punching bag and he laughed. The only explanation he gave me was a bag of coke he pulled out of his jacket pocket that he wiggled in my face.

"What'd ya think, Craig?" He asked with a shit-eating grin that I wanted to slap off his face. The only reason I went and snorted coke on an outside lunch table behind the school was because his left eye was swollen shut so he didn't see that I was flipping him off the entire time.

I was always told to stay away from people like him. And I tried, I really did but the little shit wormed his way under my skin. And that's where he stayed. I even found myself sneaking out in the middle of the night to smoke weed with him on the park swings.

When McCormick's high he turns into a different person. Most of he time he's super lazy, lounging around whatever shit hole we landed ourselves in that time. Other times he gets all sappy and that's when I  _really_ want him to eat his own shit. In one of those times he confessed to me why he never cleaned the blood off of his face after a fight.

"It makes me look cooler," he began, cackling insanely at his own words. When I shot him a look that told him I didn't believe that for a damn second he wiped all traces of happiness off his features. "Ah, you got me Tucker McFucker." A rather disgusting snort came from the blond. "I don't clean the blood off 'cause that requires lookin' in the mirror. To get it all off anyway. And I don't like lookin' at myself 'cause I'm a  _fucking mess_!" He cried out, throwing his hands above his head like it was the _Fourth of fucking July_. And just when I noticed that tears were leaking out of his eyes he was already laughing again.

 .

Ruby is the super star of the family. She always has been. I'm not jealous because I don't have high standards of myself and she's not the one getting high with McCormick. I would _kill_ her if she ever did something like that.

Ruby was a surprisingly good runner, an activity she liked to complain about when she was younger. Sometimes after school ended for the day I'd head over to the middle school and watch her run because I like to consider myself a good brother on some occasions. Even though I don't like sports. My dad tried to get to try out for the football team but I bluntly refused. I told him sports suck. He got all mad at me and threatened to kick me out if I didn't start engaging myself. What scared me was not his threat but my mom agreeing from the other room. She always had my back.

So I thought going to Ruby's track meets would count as some form of engaging myself. It wasn't like attending was too horrible so I thought my parents ought to give me some credit. Except my dad wasn't like that and he will _never_ be like that. That didn't stop me going to the meets anyway.

So there I sat on the burning metal bleachers under that damned blazing hot sun. And because I'm way too insecure about my own hair as I'd like to admit, I kept my hat on. It wasn't often that South Park was hit with this much sun being a mountain town and all and I wasn't ready to pull off all my clothes and whoop from the top of my lungs (some guy actually did that because South Park is just that kind of town).

Whenever I felt my eyes start to droop the sound of the gunshot being fired at the start of every race snapped me back to reality. A child a couple rows in front of me screamed everytime it happened while their parent made no attempt to comfort them. Soon it became an endless cycle of drifting off and then jerking awake. I was glad I sat at the top where there was support for my back and head or else I would have toppled by now.

I was just starting to escape reality once more when someone plopped down  _right next to me_. I was already prepared to give them a piece of my mind when there were literally  _hundreds_ of other places to sit before I even had my eyes fully opened. Except I didn't _need_ to open my eyes fully to recognize that partially zipped orange parka instantly.

"What in the actual _fuck_ are _you_ doing here, McMcormick?!" I groamed as soon as I could form the sentence in my mouth. The blond didn't respond for a moment, his eyes trained on the back of some girl's head. I didn't say anything more, I didn't need to. MCCormick was one of the only people I could be with alone in silence without it becoming awkward.

But even if I could sit in silence with McCormick I still had to put up with the small annoying things he does in those moments. Typically, he badly hums a song that sounds like literal shit and other times he taps his feet, pen, or whatever the fuck he feels like tapping. For example, he was doing that awful thing where he lets his fingers land one after the other. Since he was doing it on metal bleachers it sounded far worse than any other time he did it. I'm convinced he does all of these things because he _knows_ it irritates me. That little shit.

"Just dropping in," he says all too suddenly, almost making me forget what I had asked a bit ago. "That's your sister down there, right? Ruby, is it?" McCormick asked, pointing in the direction of my younger sister. It concerned me that his features lacked any sort of grin and instead it showed nothing. A blank paper with writing that someone had put there before they changed their mind and erased it. Brutally erased. When I didn't answer his question he nudged me in the knee with his badly bandaged hand. I only pulled my knee away from him as I watched Ruby talk to her friends. McCormick made an impatient noise and dropped his hand back in his lap, his back ladding against the wall behind us.

Eventually I nodded though it was short and possibly went unnoticed. Except this is Kenny McCormick we're talking about and he notices _everything_. It was kind of his thing, to notice what others would not. To wonder about the town. To ask questions no one dared to utter or even thought of. No one asked him to, he just did it. I never bring it up because it's just kind of common knowledge between us. He wonders and I listen. He voices his thoughts out loud while mine remain unspoken.

It was strange, even now, to think that we do in fact have relationship perks. It was strange that we even talk to each other. He's annoying, violent, and grins just a little too much but I can't see my life without him in it. Which sounds totally gay.

True to my word, Kenny cracked a smile at the nod I now know he saw. "I have younger sister too, but she doesn't get out much. No reason to," he said, throwing his arms back carelessly. His tone, however, was anything but careless. It carried a bit too much weight to it that wasn't like the blond. And because it's McCormick he doesn't let that show on his face. His permanent grin plastered to his sun-kissed face. He only shows people his happy expressions. And from what I know, nobody can be so damn happy all the time.


	3. The Second Thing You Need To Know - The Thing

**Craig's POV**

It took me all the way into junior year to figure out McCormick was _not normal_. I mean, I thought he was messed up in the head before because I didn't like him, but there was something that added to his list that I dubbed ' _The McCormick List of Crazy_ '.

Naturally I didn't think of _the thing_ as real because I don't believe in the supernatural. Easy as that. Anything that's way out of the whack I simply write off as a bad dream. Or perhaps hallucinations from all the drugs I do. Even when he looked me dead in the eye and told me about _the thing_ , I kicked him in the knee. Mainly because I hate holding eye contact with someone because it just seems _so invasive_ and also because McCormick was breathing his weed breath all over my face. I learned a long time ago to never believe a thing McCormick says under the influence of drugs (unless he stops grinning for once).

So I brushed off  _the thing_ as a maid would brush the dirt up into the dustpan. Except a lot more violently. Even my friends caught onto  _the thing_ and they laughed about it along with me. Tweek was the only one that tried to sympathize with  _the thing_. But McCormick didn't want _Tweek_ to understand, he wanted _me_ to understand. He even told me that one day after school with a look of pure helplessness on his scratched up face.

"You seem to have forgotten you're human. Nothing less, nothing more," I told him through a cloud of cigarette smoke I puffed out. "I think you'd better get some help," I continued though my words lacked any sincerity. If he had to get help than I would too. And I was not letting those shitty people that pretend to care about your problems win.

So what exactly is _the thing_? Well, in short, it's a code phrase for the utter bullshit fact that Kenny defies the aspect of death. I mean come on? Literally everything dis in the end and McCormick's pathetic existence was no exception. I even swallowed my pride long even to mention it to Kyle and Stan who's opinions didn't differ from my own beliefs (then I quickly cut the conversation off cause fuck those guys).

On Tuesday in the locker rooms before gym class I stumbled upon McCormick with his shirt off, his back turned towards me. On his pale and bony back was a tattoo of a black angels wing on each shoulder blade. The sight made me roll my eyes because _come on_ , dude.

The rest school week went by in an unexciting blur of pretending to still be alive inside and ended with a pile of homework to be completed over the weekend. I managed to push my way through the other teenagers crowding the hallways and out onto the bland pavement outside of the entry doors. I quickly made my way to a nearby park before any school administrators could stop me (I have some bad history with them).

When I got to the park I shrugged my backpack off my shoulder and let it slump to the wood chip littered ground. I myself eased onto one the low-hanging swings, my weight making it sag exponentially. I pushed my foot on the ground just enough to where I was gently moving, my eyes closed in serene enjoyment. It was the first time in a long time that I want stuck with detention on a Friday afternoon and I'll be damned if I'm not going to enjoy it.

Not two minutes later and the sound of approaching footsteps reached my ears, an unwanted addition that set my mood in the wrong direction. I didn't open my eyes even as the person sat themselves next to me, an unpleasant shrill screech erupting from the chains. They started swinging, the conclusion made obvious by how much the other person was kicking up wood chips and the chains were complaining.

I let time pass, enough for the person to slow their swinging until it came to a stop. I opened my eyes and was met with the sight of messy blonde hair and a bright orange jacket in my peripheral vision. Of fucking course it would be him. McCormick caught me side-eyeing him and quickly shot me a toothy smile, an almost childlike gleam to his eyes.

"How are things _swinging_?" He asked with a snort, kicking the ground to jerk the swing into motion as if to emphasize his dumb pun. I turned my head to fully look at him with a comeback pun already on my tongue when I stopped. This is got to be the gayest thing ever, but the way McCormick looked in that certain angle with the sun shining down on him like a spotlight made my heart stop. It wasn't the first time I noticed the boy's rather attractive but banged up looks and it frustrated me to no end.

McCormick and I have a strange relationship. I mean, that much is obvious, right? We were brought together under strange circumstances and we somehow never managed to break away from each other. We started talking in freshman year when we were both down in the slums. We never seemed to bond over anything other than that fact. We weren't and aren't friends, that term is just too simple and straightforward for whatever is between us. Sometimes we get along, sometimes we fight, and sometimes we stare at each other a little too long.

Something I apparently was doing right now since McCormick was snapping his fingers in my face to snap me from my stupor. I blinked a few times in confusion before realizing I was staring and quickly looked away, trying to ignore how warm my cheeks felt. McCormick just laughed, something he does a lot, and slipped his hand back into his coat pocket.

"Hey," he started softly, his gaze now directed towards the ground, "do you remember when I told you about my...condition?" He says it like he has a disease. If only it was that simple. I nod once, just to humor him. "Do you still not believe me?" He then asked and I was a little taken aback from how defeated he sounded. He suddenly looks up and locks his eyes with mine. "Do you?"

I immediately casted my eyes away because I just _couldn't_ look into his ocean blue eyes and tell him the truth. Nor lie to him. How was I tell him that no, I did not believe that because I'm not _crazy_ when he was looking at me in such a way?

When I didn't answer McCormick sighed and reached into the middle pocket of his worn down backpack. To my utter surprise he had pulled out a very real handgun and brought it up to rest in his lap as if it were a book.

" _Jesus shit_ , _McCormick_! Was that in there all day? What if someone found it!" I sputtered out as I studied the potentially loaded weapon with wide eyes.

"Eh, who cares? They'd just get the cops involved and that's nothing I can't handle." He says it so simply that _I_ can't handle it. McCormcik looks up from the gun and looks at me with a meloncholy look and a smile that was just a little too tight. "You know that you never react to anything. Your face always looks like this," he stops to imitate my supposed look but I don't smile, "and I was starting to wonder if you were emotionally dead in there." He pokes my arm. "Good to know something can get a reaction outta ya."

"That's a gun, McCormick! Why do you even have that? Did you bring that just to see if I would change my facial expression?! There's other ways you can do that you know!" I fumed, my gaze still looked onto the black object.

"No." I look up, studying his pale freckled face that looked almost at peace. "I brought it to prove a point." And then McCormick grinned his toothy grin that usually made my heart stop but now my heart was stopping in it's tracks for an entirely different reason. I kept repeated the same thing over and over in my head.

_He's not going to shoot himself. He's not going to shoot himself. He's not going to shoot himself..._

And then he placed the barrel of the gun against his temple.

"Kenny, woah-" I didn't get to finish because at that moment McCormick leaned over, gun still pressed against his head, and kissed me.

"That was the first time you called me Kenny," he whispered when he pulled back, a glint of happiness in his stupidly beautiful blue eyes. And before I even had time to process what just happened he fired the gun, spraying blood all over me.

A really pathetic wheezing noise found an escape route as I watched his body slump to the ground. It was as if time just stood still as soon as the gun went off. In a daze, I dropped to my knees in front of his body, my numb hands fumbling over themselves as I tried to reach for him. He's dead. Kenny McCormick is _dead_. I didn't even register the scream of a nearby pedestrian because Kenny was dead and his blood was all over me. It was on my fucking beloved hat but I couldn't  _care_ because I'm kneeling in wood chips holding a dead boy to my chest. A dead boy that had kissed me moments before he fired a bullet into his head.

I don't remember getting up but I soon found myself outside Kenny's shithole of a house waiting for his parents to answer the door. Holding their dead son in my arms with involuntary thin lines of water running down my cheeks, mixing with the blood that had been somehow smeared ont my face. When the door opened it wasn't his parents but his younger sister instead. The poor girl screamed with horror at the sight of her brother's limp form, his eyes open and mouth agape.

. 

My whole family attended Kenny's funeral. Mainly because my parents liked to give themselves a good name and show their support. I knew they didn't actually give a shit and it made me mad that they could _pretend_ to be sad. They weren't the ones who had to carry his body back to his parents.

Mr. McCormick was giving a speech about his son while his wife silently cried behind him. The chair I saved for Ruby was empty since she decided to sit by Karen and try to cheer her up. Another reason why Ruby was a lot nicer than me. I glanced over at Kyle and Stan who looked equally distraught. Unlike, Cartman I knew their sadness was sincere because they actually cared about him and I respect them for it. I didn't used to but a switch flips when someone blows their brains out all over you.

After all the speeches were over we were allowed to look at Kenny if we wanted. I have no idea who thought this was a good idea for a funeral. I purposely made myself the last person in line, just so I'd have longer to look at him. When I walked up to the coffin I was surprised with how peaceful and neat he looked. Any remaining blood was cleaned away and he was wearing a nice tux with a white rose in the pocket.

Peace and McCormick were nothing more than strangers.

When I was sure no one was looking (they were mainly huddled around the grieving family) I pulled a pack of cigarettes out of my dress pant bottoms and placed it in McCormick's hand. You never know if they're going to need a good smoke in the afterlife.

I watched with a blank expression as they lowered the coffin into the ground where it would rest for eternity. I didn't cry because that's just not something I do. I couldn't help but remember what my mother told me. "Never cry over spilled milk," she would say. Then I felt strange for thinking it. Comparing Kenny McCormick to spilled milk was odd.

"I'm sorry, Craig," a voice said beside me as a hand landed on my shoulder. I looked over to see Token dressed as clean and crisp as ever with a sympathetic smile adorning his features. I let out a sigh and stepped away from his hand, not wanting to be touched at the moment. "I know you were his...friend and I'm sorry you had to deal with his passing," he said, obviously referring to the rather excessive amounts of gore I was smothered in.

"Don't apologize, I'm not upset." Which was a downright lie. "I barely knew him." Which was another lie. I knew him a little too much, more than he probably knew about me. He had this way of letting things slip about his life at home, or how he loved his sister, or what his favorite movie was. It's what made me realize he was more than that quiet kid in an orange parka who hung out with the problem kids. 

And as I stood there in front of his grave, Token still beside me, I whispered, "I barely knew him at all."

.

I was expecting school on Monday to be nothing less than straight out of a horrible 90's highschool movie. We'd be called into the gym for an assembly so the administrators can pretend they didn't hate his guts and everyone would fake cry. They would hold hands to their face to wipe away tears but really to whisper 'who was he?' to their friend.

Except none of this happened. Students filed into the building and quickly scattered to try and find their friend groups. And as I tried to find mine, I couldn't help but notice how cheery everyone looked. Someone would crack a joke and everyone would laugh a little too loud, a little too long. By the junior/senior hangout Kyle and Cartman were fighting while Stan tapped away on his phone.

What was the most disturbing part was that _Kenny McCormick_ told them to break it up. Kenny fucking McCormick. The same boy that killed himself in front of me. The same boy that kissed me moments before. I attended his fucking funeral and there he stood among his friends like nothing ever happened. Like he didn't shoot himself in the head.

Am I fucking crazy?

I decided to confront him after third period in the parking lot in the back of the school. He was sitting a top his shitty car smoking, watching me with curiousity as I climbed up to sit down next to him. Wordlessly, McCormick handed me a cigarette and the lighter soon after.

"Why'd you kiss me?" I asked suddenly, lowering the cigarette from my mouth. McCormick looks over, not even bothering to mask his surprise at the question. We held eye contact for a moment before he lowered his head.

"I didn't, Tucker. I don't know what fantasies go on in your head, but I didn't kiss you," he responded as he sucked in more smoke. I heard the nervousness in his voice which proved he was lying. And the fact that he called me Tucker which he really only does when he's lying.

"Yes you did. Right before you fucking shot yourself. Remember that?!" I raised my voice at him, feeling my heart twist in an unpleasant way. "I went to your funeral! You _died_! Why the fuck are you here?! You should be dead!" At that slide off the car, drop my cigarette and smush it under my foot, my hands curling into fists. All of sudden McCormick, no _Kenny_ , is springing himself off of the car and he's pulling my in for a hug. Without thinking I return the hug with every emotion I've felt lately. God fuck emotions.

"You remember, oh _god_ you _remember_!" He cried out in joy as looked up at me. "No one ever remembers. I die all the fucking time and they always forget. But _you_ remember!" Kenny let out a rather insane sounding burst of laughter at the revelation he had been hit with.

To say I was surprised would be an understatement. My mind is still trying to wrap itself around the knowledge that Kenny wasn't lying. He wasn't lying all this time. He dies and then comes back because I've _seen_ it.

And I'm the only one who remembers.


	4. The Third Thing You Need To Know - The Oven

**Craig's POV**

My mom is obsessed with the oven. It's not like she loves it like any other normal person would, she's quite literally obsessed with it. I started to notice the warning signs when I was in sixth grade and there was always some new baked good waiting for me on the counter. At first I was like, " _Oh, she's making after school snacks for me, cool_." And then it started happening on the daily.

It made me wonder when the hell did she have time to get so many ingredients that I was sure weren't in the pantry yesterday? And I was pretty positive my parents paychecks combined couldn't sustain such an unhealthy hobby.

Then came the cooling racks, stacks of extra storing containers, more cooking utensils. My god, my mom was weird. Things that shouldn't exist went into that oven and my family had to live with the repercussions.

When I first told Clyde about it he snickered and told me it was just a passion of hers. Man, if it was just that then it was one _serious_ passion. But because I didn't want to dwell on it, I agreed with Clyde and tried to move on with my life. If only it was that easy.

Because of all the things she decided to stick in the oven she managed to break the oven on many occasions. My dad never got mad the first few times since he enjoyed the food he was recieving (that fat fuck) and just went along fixing it. Eventually he got aggravated and mumbled a colorful array of words under his breath as he, once again, was set to fix the oven. My mom would stand behind him pretending to look regretful when she was really just eager to shove more things into that thing.

My sister never really ate anything that our mom baked since she was a bit of a health freak. How an eighth grader became a health freak, I'll never know. But that only meant she was able to opt out of our 'baked good family bonding night extravaganza'!

When I was in seventh grade I began to take some of the food she made to school for other people to enjoy. I was starting to get sick of her constant supply of blueberry muffins. When I started hanging out with Kenny in freshman year I brought him food too. He seemed to really like the excessive amounts of muffins I brought. One time it was my math teacher's birthday and I brought her an entire casserole. My mom never noticed I took an entire pan of fucking casserole to school.

So there I was with an enormous bag full of strawberry muffins in my hand, walking through the halls of South Park High. Occasionally someone would ask for one and I would open the bag as an invitation to take as many as they wanted. Because I _really_ didn't need that many strawberry muffins. Whenever Stan saw with more food he would advise me to just dump it. Apart of me really wanted to because _goddamn_ was I getting sick of this, but another part of me didn't want to. Because my mom made them and I love my mom and I feel like it would be disgraceful.

Kenny always took as many as he wanted whenever I held the bag in front of him. And he did today as the two of us sat on the side of the school. It had been a week since Kenny decided (in the most unpleasant way) to prove his point in the most extreme way. I tried not to think about it because that's just what I do. I don't like something, I don't think about it. Simple. Except anything that had Kenny anywhere near it was not simple and it was so hard pretending. Maybe it was all a dream and I would wake up on Monday morning and Kenny would be pronounced dead. Or maybe, if I'm lucky, I'll wake up on a random Wednesday morning in 4th grade back when things were so much more simple.

I'm really starting to hate the word simple now.

"You know, I wouldn't mind choking to death on one of these muffins," Kenny joked after he finished a muffin, wiping his hands on the grass. "Your mom sure does know how to cook." I didn't find it funny. Hell, it didn't find _one thing_ about him dying to be funny. I've always thought death was a bad thing like any other normal person would. But there he sat with that infuriating smirk on his face and his hands in the grass and his hair glistening in the Coloradan sun looking so perfectly dumb joking about dying. I wanted to punch him so hard his nose would snap sideways. I wanted to kiss him until we're both breathless with swollen lips. I wanted him to stop being a little shit that I wanted to kiss and punch at the same time. I wanted to stop wanting things.

Instead I grabbed a fistful of dirt and threw it in his face. He coughed for a moment before he started laughing and threw grass in my face. A ghost of smile graced my face as I retaliated with more dirt, him with more grass. It felt good to do this, something I haven't done since I was a kid. There was something sad in the harmless act of acting like you're nine again.

"You know, you shouldn't do that. That grass was perfectly healthy before you went and ripped it up," a snobby voice came from behind me, our actions halting. Kenny merely stared at the intruder with an indifferent expression, clearly not at all concerned about how the grass was before he assaulted it. I rolled my eyes at the voice I could recognize anywhere. I mean, would you forget the voice of someone who helped ruin your life?

I turned to see none other than Heidi Turner, that gay hating bitch with a haircut that looked like alien shit. (I only say this because I overheard Kyle refer to it as that. I simply loved the description.) Kenny over dramatically yawned loud and long next to me, placing his hand over his mouth as an extra affect. My eyes met the chocolate brown of Heidi's for a moment before I flipped that bitch off on both hands.

And I didn't regret even when I was dragged into the vice principal's office.

 . 

When I returned home from school that day I was greeted with the familiar smell of pie, though the smell was disfigured due to the mixture of literally everything else. Dumping my bag next to the door I made my way into the kitchen expecting to see my mom. Instead I was met with my younger sister, Ruby, staring intently at the oven whilst tapping her foot.

"Oh, hey Craig," she said, unnervingly nonchalant. I stared at her with mounting confusion, trying to figure out how my vocal chords worked again. It was such a strange sight, to see my sister baking something. No one ever used the oven except my mom because there wasn't any need to.

It soon dawned on me that the oven was at a very high temperature and that the smell was a little too disfigured. The light was on inside the oven which showed what exactly my sister was doing. On both racks in the oven sat piles of pies at varying degrees of blackness since the temperature was so damn high. The drying towels hanging on the oven's door handle framed the whole scene like a picture.

"Ruby," I started out slowly, my eyes stuck on the oven. "What exactly are you doing?" I questioned, my terribly monotonous voice sounding a too odd all of a sudden. I failed to ask her why she wasn't in school since the middle school gets out nearly 30 minutes after the high school, but that really wasn't my first concern. Ruby grins, something I hadn't seen her do in quite some time, and leans back against the island counter.

"I'm putting a stop to mom's obsession. I'm burning all the pies that were stored in the freezer downstairs. Hopefully, the oven will set on fire," she said with a shrug as if it was the most natural thing to do. My eyes moved from the oven to my sister, still trying to piece the situation together. "Oh, by the way. I would get all of your stuff you want to the backyard."

Holy shit. Jesus fucking oven fire Christ. My little sister, a fucking thirteen year old girl, was trying to not only burn the oven but our entire fucking house down.

"Did ya hear me, Craig? You have to get your stuff out before the place goes down. You'll be sorry if you don't!" She exclaimed just as the oven burst into flames. I'm not embarrassed to say I screamed louder than when Bebe saw a spider at that particular moment. My feet started moving to the stairs, my mind spinning and heart beating a hundred times per second. I wanted to throw up all over the place but instead I want to room and desperately grabbed anything I wanted.

Looking back, I really should've called the fire department right away. Or tried to put it out. Funny how human brains work in bad situations.

It took me no more than ten minutes to throw my stuff out of my bedroom window and into the backyard. It took me no less than a minute to get the spare fire extinguisher from my parents closet and go racing down the stairs into the kitchen.

The fire had spread and the smoke was bad. It filled my lungs and burned my eyes to the point where they watered. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my sister in the living room grabbing things. What a little fucking shit. I was now fully aware that my younger sister was literally _insane_.

Who the fuck wants to burn down their own house?!

The fire extinguisher did barely anything so I was forced to go running out the back door, my eyes burning. Ruby was holding some kind of book to her chest as she stared at the smoking house. The only thing I could think of at this moment was of the conversation between my parents I overheard nearly a year ago.

"She's not right in the head, I think we should get her some help..."

I looked at Ruby suddenly, and she didn't quite look like the little sister I have known nearly all my life. And in that moment I had a lot more to blame on my lousy parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who didn't update three days ago?! Ha aha ha...  
> Okay, but really. I'm sorry about that, I've just have so much going on lately. I've been thinking about not having a strict schedule for this since I apparently can't keep up with the due date. I'm not sure though.  
> Hope you enjoyed it, though!


	5. Operation Deny Everything - Freshman Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in the story, I'm going to switching back to freshman year so bear with me

**Craig's POV**

A week after I asked _the question_ I found myself in a support group. They said something about "helping me deal with being gay" or some shit like that. You see, I really didn't know what my sexuality was since I _was_ only fourteen. My parents seemed to know this too because they begged the school not to put me in a support group.

I would agree with them except their reasons were for their own benefit and to fan their own ego. My dad's biggest concern was what other people would say, not helping his own son through what the counselor tried to convince me were hard times.

I was forced to show up every week after school on Wednesday. It was the only day every week that I didn't have detention. But, in all honesty, I'd rather go to detention.

I categorized these attendances as Attempt A, B, C, and so on. After I returned home at 6 o'clock I would go to my room and write down what happened. You never know when you're gonna need proof of torture.

Attempt A was my first session. It was already late September so I was quite late to the group. The meeting was held in C106, Mrs. Garner's classroom. The classroom was used for drama as props, costumes, and even cameras were present in the room. I was forced to take a seat by a rather unnerving monkey mask that had black holes where it's eyes were supposed to be.

Since it was a support group, we had to do that stereotypical thing where we said our name and why we're there. Everyone there had to introduce themselves to me and they all sounded like they hated it. I didn't listen to their names though. The woman in charge was a thin, cheerful woman with her hair cut into a wavy bob. She adorned large, red earrings that brushed against her shoulders with lips the same colour. A scarf was wrapped tightly around her throat as if she was one step away from suffocating herself.

Same here, lady.

"Everyone, we have a new person joining us today!" She exclaimed kindly, her eyes moving over each and every person present, including me. As if on cue, everyone turned to look all at once and I swear they all looked _dead_ inside. I didn't smile because that's not my thing and probably never will be and instead stared blankly past all of them and at the wall behind the Earring Lady. "Do you mind introducing yourself?" Earring Lady asked, pearly white teeth peeking out from monstrous red lips.

A girl in a jean jacket who was sitting next to me was leaning closely to me, her breath dusting across my face. She smelled like mangos and cheese; a combination I wasn't too keen on. I couldn't help but notice the top of a vodka bottle peaking out of the top of her purse.

"Uh, yeah." No, I don't want to. "I'm Craig," I said and then shut my mouth. Earring Lady didn't seem too pleased with that and moved her hands in an outward motion, trying to get me to say more.

"Why are you here, Craig? What happened?" She asked in a sweet voice, her eyes stubbornly planted on me. I noticed a splotch of red lipstick on her teeth. I wasn't ready to leap up onto my chair with my fist in the air and scream ' _I'm gay!!!_ '. So instead I lifted up my hand and popped up the middle finger.

Attempt B was less chaotic than the first. This time, I made sure not to flip off Earring Lady (or Ms. Fovst as I was later told by the school when I was called in after the incident) or anyone else for that matter. Even so, I apparently got on the good side of a guy named Derek who high fived me after the group was set free.

"I hated the bitch since day one! Thinks she can just solve our problems just like that!" He yelled after a pretty violent high five. I remained silent.

So when I showed up the following Wednesday I silently took my seat and listened to whatever crap Ms. Fovst had to say. Apparently, the school had tipped her off to her that I was 'dealing with being gay' and she decided to help me out.

In front of everyone.

"Craig, why don't you tell everyone about how you figured out you were a...homosexual." It almost sounded like she was afraid to say the word. All eyes turned to me, some open wide with shock. Heat rushed to my cheeks, but I refused to show any emotion.

"I'm not gay," I said simply, giving a little shrug to go along with my words. And then because Ms. Fovst seemed displeased at my answer I decided to spice it up. "I’m a demiromantic pansexual gender fluid non-binary moca frappuccino with dual acting hydraulic cylinder and leather grip swiss army knife. Who identifies as male."

To say the least, Attempt B went down in flames in an entirely different way.

Attempt C came faster than I would have liked. It was like the week of school in between the meetings went by faster than I would have liked. Don't get me wrong, I hated school but the meetings were even worse at the moment. I'd rather sit through a lecture in AP Human Geo than deal with Ms. Fovst and Jean Jacket again.

On my way to the meeting after the bell rang I managed to run into one of Bebe's and Clyde's dumb fights. Why don't they just break up already?

"I saw how you were looking at her! It makes me wonder if you even like me! Do you even want me to be your girlfriend anymore? Cause I will walk away if you don't want me!" She screamed, her eyes filling with tears. I've watched plenty of girls like her cry to know exactly what was going to happen to her mascara once the tears were free. I got the hell out of there before things got ugly.

When I walked into room C106 I was surprised to find the principal seated alongside Ms. Fovst. It was probably because of my previous offensive actions. Rolling my eyes, I took my usual seat in front of the eyeless monkey mask and slid down so my hoodie migrated up my back. Back dumped by my seat, arms crossed, and foot tapping I was ready for another shitty session.

"I'm so glad to see all you today! We have a new person joining us today! Emile, if you will?" She asked; which sounded more of a command than anything.

My eyes move over to where Ms. Fovst indicated and see a blonde girl with a dark grey hoodie and an earbud jammed in one ear. Her fingers were tapping on her to whatever song she was listening to. "Sup," she started, lifting her tapping hand off her leg in a sad sort of wave. "I'm Emile and I hear voices. But it's okay."

Ms. Fovst's smile was a little too strained.


	6. Things That Happen On Thursday Nights

**Kenny's POV**

The last thing I was expecting at 8:39 pm on a Thursday was to find a rather distraught looking Craig Tucker on my front porch.

"I didn't know we were seeing each other exclusively." My first was instinct was to crack a joke mainly because I wasn't really good in serious situations. Even if it was a pretty lame attempt to lighten up the surprise of Craig's sudden experience and inappropriate in every possible way, the raven in front of me managed to crack a smile. Though it was strange to see him smile, I was more focused on how that smile didn't come naturally.

"Ineedtostayhere," he said, his words whooshing out in one heaving breath. My lips stretch into a relaxed smile as I lean my left side against the splintered doorframe. The peaceful sounds of the night fill the space between us as I take in his desperate appearance. It's the first time I've seen him show so much emotion that wasn't irritation. I find it rather exciting.

"You need to stay here...why?" I ask slowly, too focused on how my breath puffs out in front on me as I speak. Craig lets out an exasperated groan and rolls his eyes, shaking his head. It dawned on me that maybe I was stalling the conversation and I should probably just let the poor fucker in. "Alright, whatever, dude. Don't know why you couldn't have gone to someone with a better living condition," I say indifferently, shrugging my shoulders as I push off the doorframe and step to the side. As Craig walks past he shoots me a look as if he's offended I even suggested going to someone else.

Craig instantly attracts to the worn down couch and immediately drops himself onto it. In any other situation I would've laughed with how bizarre this was. I would never of imagined Craig Tucker drooped over on my couch like a hobo who got a little too high. But this was not any other situation and I can, occasionally, not be a smug prick. Instead of laughing I make my way over to him and slowly ease myself onto the spot next to him and place my thin hand on his tense shoulder.

"So," I bounce the word around in my mouth, tasting its potential and tragic lameness. Why am I so awful when things like this arise? Craig doesn't respond or move whatsoever so I take that as my queue to continue. "What's happening, Tuck?" I ask, trying to keep my voice smooth and supportive (man, I wish I was Kyle sometimes). Craig still doesn't say anything but he turns to me and pulls me into a tight hug that frightened me beyond belief. Craig didn't hug anyone, not ever, and here he was with his arms wrapped around me and shaking like a dog left out in the cold. I was so terrified of what the hell was happening to my dear old boring Craig that it took me longer than what was considered a healthy hugging period to return the gesture.

And damn did I hug back.

When Craig showed no signs of breaking the hug I began to worry if maybe one of my parents would come in and see this. My dad wasn't too keen on "gay things" as he puts it. Ah, whatever, he can eat a brick for all I care. The only thing I care about in this moment is the pressure of Craig's arms wrapped around me and the warmth radiating off of him. I'm convinced there isn't a better feeling than having him pressed against me like this.

"My sister burned my house down," he said bluntly, no hint of emotion bleeding into his tone this time. It took me a bit to process what he just said and when I did a little giggle managed to escape. Craig pushed back from the hug at that moment and I was afraid that I may have upset him when I saw his face. His lips were in a pursed line but his eyes were alive with some weird burning intensity that shined brighter than a full moon and all the stars in the sky combined.

Before I knew it he was giggling too (I got Craig Tucker to giggle!). And I was joining him because this was just too _damn hilarious_. By this point, as we laughed together on my crappy living room couch, I didn't even try to sort through his answer because I always thought Ruby was a little off her rocker. So I laughed with him and I guess that made him feel better because his shoulders became relaxed and the look in his eyes mellowed out. We laughed until someone from down the hall yelled at us to shut up.

I knew the side Craig was showing me right now would be closed off once more and I would have a hard time getting back there. I always knew there was more to Craig than cold stares, monotonous expressions, dry jokes, and middle fingers. Even though I know it's going to be hard, I'm determined more than ever to see this side again.

Perhaps I should burn something of his down.

 .

The Tucker family was placed in the only motel in South Park until they got their house rebuilt. Apparently Craig never ratted his sister out for the crime and Ruby didn't confess. And because it wasn't really my business I didn't breath a word to anyone at school. Some things just need to stay between certain people.

"Yo, Kyle, have you seen Craig around anywhere?" I ask, approaching the redhead at our usual table at lunch. He glances up from the book he's required to read for his crazy advanced English class and shakes his head.

"Nope," he says, his eyes flickering back down to his book. And I guess because he doesn't want to brush me off like that he continues, "He might of went off campus." It was a good suggestion but I know Craig too well by now. He doesn't like to go off campus for 'meaningless things' as he puts it. I wave to Stan as I walk away from the table and out of the lunchroom. I don't really eat with them anymore and they don't say anything about it. Things change and so do people.

Lunchtime is the best time to walk down the halls since there aren't people everywhere. Sometimes you have to fight your way to your destination like a barbarian. There's just something about standing _right in the middle of the goddamn hallway_ that appeals to so many people. Nevertheless, I still have to dodge a couple who are a little _too_ invested in eachother. It's cool that they like eachother but _damn_.

It doesn't take long to find the noirette with a cigarette hanging between his lips whilst sitting on a bench with his attention focused on some school shit. Since I lack any stealth whatsoever Craig notices me instantly but doesn't say or do anything except glance up briefly. Of course he wouldn't be surprised of my presence.

"Sup Tucker Fucker," I greet cheerily with a big grin to accompany my tone. Craig makes a noise that sounds like a sigh and scoff combined which makes my grin grow even more. I just love wiggling my way under his skin and he makes it so easy too. Or so it seems, I don't actually know what goes on in that fucked up brain of his. However, I do consider myself a 'Craig expert'.

"What'd ya want?" He mumbles, pushing away whatever stupid thing he was so invested in earlier. I shrug in response and because there wasn't any hostility in his voice plop myself against him and hold out my gloved hand in his direction. We make eye contact for a few moments, my heart flopping lamely, before he holds out his box of cigarettes. "You need to stop using all my cigarettes." He took a drag from his own after he said that, making me laugh.

"I promise that there shall never be a day when I stop using your cigarettes," I respond, the already lit cigarette instantly making its way into my mouth where it belongs. Craig shoots me his masterful side glare.

"...Fuck you," he says, his dark brown eyes watching the trail of smoke as it disappears into the afternoon.

"You would though," I respond instantly, an insane smile spreading across my face as I watch his monotonous face turn a light red. His fist collides with my shoulder in a way that was probably meant to be harmful but ended up being soft. "Oh, ow! Why'd ya do that?! That hurt real bad!" I yell dramatically, gripping my shoulder in fake agony. Craig rolls his eyes at my melodramatic acting and sharply inhales on his cigarette. I watch him for a moment as I let my grin settle down until my lips were stretched into a relaxed and easy smile.

The silence between us doesn't lift by either voice, but it's not uncomfortable. I could never be uncomfortable around Craig, he's just that kind of guy. Exactly the kind I enjoy being around.

"Hey...I know it's still a ways away, but whatcha doin' for spring break?" I ask, shifting to a better angle so I could have a better view of him. Craig's expression doesn't change but his eyes show he's thinking about it. I love how his emotions bleed through his eyes without him realizing it.

"Probably get out of this place the whole time. It would be a nice break." He says it slowly, drawing out each word in a meaningful way. I find myself muttering my agreement before puffing artificial smoke into the air. Craig glances at me with intense brown eyes before he turns them to the dirt underneath his feet. I find it funny that Craig finds it impossible to maintain eye contact with me. I know it's easy to fall in love with my blue eyes but damn, Tucker.

"By the way, Homecoming is this weekend. Do you wanna go with me?" I decide to drop it bluntly. It was just better to just say it how it is. Craig's eyes instantly find mine as a look of unmasked surprise crosses his face. I lean away from him and back onto my hands, watching him carefully. Deep down, I was scared to be rejected by him since I really did like him. Sure, we haven't really kissed or done anything even remotely romantic in over a week now but I still considered him a love interest. The only problem was no one I ever liked seem to have mutual feelings. And even after being around Craig for two years I still didn't know where he stood.

When he didn't respond my heart started to feel heavy with a sudden weight of sadness that perhaps I had taken our relationship completely the wrong way. Or maybe he didn't want to go with me because people would know we're gay and the rumor from freshman year would resurface. But he wouldn't care about that, right? He's so attractive he's probably already got a date with someone he hasn't told me about yet. Every part of me internally groans at that thought. Even the part that likes girls.

I'm so lost in overthinking the situation I don't hear Craig respond. I'm snapped back into reality by his intrusive middle finger right in my face and his lips forming my name.

"Huh?" I say, completely lost on whatever he was trying to say. The noirette rolls his eyes at me and drops his hand to his lap.

"I said yeah, dipshit."

An gleeful grin spreads across my face and I can't help but chuckle. Craig looks at me from the corner of his eye, cigarette hanging between his lips. Smoking is bad, yes, but he looks so good doing it. I lean back against the bench and stare at a distant tree thoughtfully.

"You know what everyone's gonna say." I see Craig pull his phone out and check it before setting it beside him.

"I don't care what everyone says, freshman year is behind me," he says simply, rolling a pebble between his two feet as he watches it.

"You know what your dad's gonna say." I know I struck a nerve because Craig is suddenly putting his cigarette out inches away from his phone. The corners of his mouth are turned down ever so slightly. He grabs his bag and pushes himself off of the bench, grabbing his phone afterwards. I do the same, taking my time to stand.

"Who cares?" His tone is flat, his eyes cloudy. From the overall look on his features it seems he cares and I know that. I at least have the common decency to look ashamed on my part. He turns so his eyes meet mine and the look in his eyes disperses a bit as I stare back.

The bell rings. We don't move.


	7. The Fifth Thing You Need To Know - The Motel Mornings

**Craig's POV**

The sound of the shower running woke me up. I blink a few times as I try to wake myself up more, and then a few more times as my eyes attempt to adjust to the dark room. I move my head to the left where the time greeted me in obnoxious red. I had to keep looking back to it for me to register that the time was 4:14 am and it was too early for me to be awake. I turn my attention to the sound that woke me from my slumber in the first place, the shower. It was just my dad getting ready for work as he does every morning.

I lay there in the uncomfortable motel bed staring at the ceiling before I realize that my dad is talking to someone. And that someone is female. I push myself up from the bed and attempt to make out my parents bed where sure enough both my parents are absent from. And that calls for alarm.

I move slowly out my bed, trying to make as little noise as possible to avoid getting their attention and my sister's. The motel's walls were thin, it wouldn't take much noise from me for them to be alerted. I take my time in getting into position outside the bathroom door, then I take even longer trying to quiet my breathing to where I could actually hear them talking. Even so I can only make out certain phrases.

"I'm worried." My mom speaks and I hear my father grumble something in response. Apparently she didn't understand either because not a moment later she was asking him to repeat himself.

My parents work together like that. They've been married since before I was born and yet they just don't seem to be on the same page. Two puzzle pieces shoved awkwardly together because they just can't figure out where else they belong. When I was younger and naïve I used to think they were the definition of true love. They were always there for each other and always agreed. It wasn't until I got older did I realize the only things they agree on is maintaining their pride. My father especially, one of the main reasons that caused our fight in my sophomore year.

It was mid October in my sophomore year when both my father and I finally snapped. Tensions had been high between us and with everything going on we just didn't get along like we used to. He still spoke to me like I was a kid and I still spoke to him like the inconsiderate person he was. And still is. My mother chose to ignore it all, mainly because she was on my side and we all knew that. My father just couldn't seem to accept he wasn't the picture perfect father he wanted to be.

He wasn't there for me when I needed him, accused me of things I never did, called me a liar, a failure. He didn't seem to see that I was trying so hard to please him. I did everything for him so he could stop looking at me like I was his biggest mistake. He didn't want a gay son he told my mother one night and that night made me realize who he truly was. I called him out the next evening over dinner and it quickly escalated into a violent verbal fight. My mother and Ruby stayed quiet, staring at their plates. He gave me a piece of his mind and I've never forgiven him for that night, not even when he apologized.

I was and never will be good enough for him, but I've learned to stop giving a shit. That's why when Kenny asked me to homecoming all I could see was that event being a slap to my father's face. And also the fact that I wanted to go with Kenny.

I didn't realize I was standing outside the bathroom for so long when I heard the door handle rattle and I quickly retreated to my phone, which was the nearest object. I tried to make myself look busy with it when my parents both stepped out, the looks on their faces solemn. My father noticed me almost instantly and stopped, staring at me through narrowed eyes. I stared back. My mother gripped my father's upper arm and they exchanged glances before they both walked to their respective areas.

My mother turned to me with that soft smile that I loved about her. "What are you doing up, Craig?" She asks, her eyes flickering down to my phone. She didn't comment on how I just had my home screen pulled up. I turned my phone off and set it on the nearby table.

"Couldn't sleep," I said nonchalantly. She nods slowly and turns her attention to Ruby's sleeping form for a second before regarding me again.

"I wish you would stop all this sneaking around. If you have something to discuss with us just come forward about, okay?" She says, reaching forward to brush my messy black hair behind my ear. I wish I could lie and say everything is fine but I just can't when my mom is looking at me with that loving look that never fails to soften me. I'd be teased by my friends to the end of time if they found out that me, the guy who does drugs, has a mom weakness.

"Well maybe I would come forward with my problems if you would stop disregarding them as nothing." I direct this at my father; his back is turned to me. "And when you two learn to stop whispering about your problem children when you think we can't hear. Because we both can." Silence settles over the room and my mother places a hand on her forehead, looking upset. "Whatever. Do whatever, see if I care." I make my way over to my side of the bed so I can grab clean clothes for after a shower.

"Craig-" my mother starts before she cuts herself off, her hand outstretched towards me. I stop and wait for her to continue, because she's my mom, the only person who has been there for me all these years. She keeps quiet and I go to the bathroom.

And as I start the shower I wonder if either of them heard Ruby's muffled cries.

.

A loud roll of thunder echoes over the bustling town of South Park as I make my way to my car in the motel parking lot. I unlock the car, slide into the driver's seat, and throw my bag into the passenger's. I sit there for a moment in dead silence, the soft pitter-patter of rain landing on the roof of my car the own noise. I stare at the steering wheel in front of me, my eyes unfocused. Then I promptly scream and slam my fist against the wheel.

I hate everything. Why is it that I get to be stuck with the shitty family? A kind but useless mother. A disapproving father. A mentally ill younger sister. Why can't I have been born as a normal kid in a normal family? Why couldn't I have been straight?

My eyes are filling with unwanted and unpleasant tears as thoughts continue to race through my mind. I know I should be heading to school now but I can't bring myself to start the car. Instead, my hand reaches for my phone and I find myself dialing a number I haven't bothered with in nearly two years.

Kenny picks up after the third ring, his voice light and disbelieving.

"Craig?"

Somehow that one word makes me crumble even further. How have I managed to end up here? Sitting in my car in the rain, crying like an idiot, hating life, and calling Kenny McCormick of all people. Kenny's the kind of person that you talk to in person, and even though we've kissed it feels strangely intimate calling him. Listening to him talk without seeing his face.

"Today sucks," is all I manage to choke out as I rub the water away from my eyes. I hear Kenny chuckle and it's a welcome sound, shelter in a hurricane.

"What happened, Craig? Why do you sound so...off? And why are you calling me after, oh I don't know, two years?!" I sit there for a while in silence after he fires off his questions, not wanting to answer. Not wanting to talk. I just wanted to hear his voice even if it sounded different over the phone.

I close my eyes and slump back in the leather seat of my car. "Family happened," I respond flatly, earning an understanding sigh from the other end. Deep down I knew why I called him, why I always wanted to call him whenever something like this happened. He knew what it was like, he knew and no one else did. They told me to get over it or that it would all work out in the end. Kenny understands and that's what made me go to him.

"Wanna talk about it over crappy one dollar fries?" He questions and damn, if that's not the most appealing offer I've ever heard. I can't help but smile at the offer. Kenny always knows just how to lighten the mood.

"Yeah," I pause to finally start my car up, "yeah sounds good. I'll pick you up?" I ask as I put the car in reverse.

"Counting on it, Tucker."

.

Twenty minutes later, Kenny and I sit in my car, both with fries in our clutches. Kenny doesn't pressure me to talk and I'm thankful for it. The silence is ever present, but it's different with him here. By the time both of our fries are nearly halfway gone, Kenny turns to me, looking at me with such an open, honest expression my heart clenches just looking at it.

"Spill the beans, Craig," he says seriously, or as serious as Kenny can get. I look away so I don't have to stare into the deep blue pools that are Kenny's eyes.

"It was just the same old stuff. They said some stuff, I said some stuff," I say, my gaze focused on the fries I hold in my hands. Kenny huffs and throws his head back against the head rest and we sit quietly again.

"Yeah, that's usually how it goes." Kenny stops to thoughtfully nibble on a fry. "How much exactly did you say?"

"Enough," I shoot back almost instantly, my brows creased. I felt regret rise in my throat as I tried to steady my racing heart. "How do you deal with your parents?" I ask, lifting my head up to look at him. Our eyes lock, the glimmer of honestly in them still not lost.

"I don't really. I let it hurt, then I let it go. Not the best cycle, believe I know but It's what works at the end of the day. Because when it comes down to it, it doesn't matter because we don't matter. We're just two silly human beings with too many feelings and we can't handle it but we won't matter in the end. No one's ever gonna remember the fact that we sat here in the rain eating fries when we should be at school." I stare at Kenny in slight surprise as I let him ramble. He was saying things I didn't even knew he thought about. Kenny notices my expression and flushes as if suddenly realizing what he said.

"Okay, wow. If those are your thoughts then I really don't want to go anywhere near your head," I joke and Kenny laughs, short and loud, and I smile.

"I'm only honest when it rains," he says dramatically, a hand thrown over his heart as he looks off into the distance. "An open book with a torn out page." He turns to look at me with an unlit fire in his eyes and just the right grin to ignite it. And in this moment I want to kiss him, hold him and never let go. I want to love him but I don't know how.

Kenny murmurs something but it sounds like static in my head. I'm so lost in his eyes that I barely hear the loud clap of thunder or the how intense the rain had gotten. Kenny starts to say another thing, but I don't let him because I'm kissing him, grabbing his parka to bring him closer. We work our lips together in a slow rhythm, his hands coming to rest on the back of my neck. We kiss each other until the need for air is too great. And when we've collected enough our lips our pressed together again.

We take our time, seeing no reason to rush. Kenny gasps and I use that to my advantage, using my tongue to map out the corners of his mouth. Time seems to stand still as we kiss, both of us content and peaceful. That is until thunder expectantly claps, scaring us both, which leads to Kenny biting the absolute shit out of my tongue.

Frankly, with how my day had been going it only felt right something like that would happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's currently 1 in the morning and I wrote this all in one go please excuse spelling mistakes.


End file.
